


I Like a Challenge

by hazel_lannister



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Hate Sex, Insomnia, Lack of Communication, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Switching, kind of, sarcastic Tony stark (what else is new), some violence but it isn't graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23291464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel_lannister/pseuds/hazel_lannister
Summary: Tony is the pirate captain of a ship that happens to capture those aboard the Centurion, led by the one and only Steve Rogers. After Tony graciously lets Steve live and work on his own ship, Tony finds it is harder than he realized to break down the walls of the stoic, smolderingly gorgeous man.Enjoy a probably unhealthy relationship filled with what Tony wants to call hate sex with not enough hate and not enough sex and maybe too many feelings along the way.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are brief descriptions of violence, not graphic, but they are there (mentions of blood and bullet wounds without much description). There is also an attempt at non-con that happens off-screen but, warning for that too. Anyway, now that I've convinced you all to stop reading, enjoy?

Tony runs a hand through his hair and replaces the gun back into his belt. The battle is over. He watches from the upper deck as his crew sends the survivors to the plank. They aren’t too far from shore so they will likely survive if they are strong enough swimmers, but Tony plans to be long gone by the time they can find a ship to follow them. 

He begins to turn to his quarters, sending a wink at the maiden, Bernie, Berta, Beatrice, something to that effect, who has been warming his bed for the past few nights. She giggles and smiles coyly. He’s about to head below deck, to pull her in with him, when he hears shouting from the other side of the ship. 

He drops to the lower deck easily, crouching slightly to take the weight, and walks smoothly over to the commotion. Three men are holding what appears to be a British officer, dressed in official clothing and all, but this is not what draws Tony’s attention. The man is built like a brick house, standing at over six feet tall without an ounce of fat visible. Even through the thick material of the cloth, it is more than obvious that there are mountains of muscles, and power in them too. 

Even with three men holding him back and trying to force him to the plank, he’s holding his own. His face is twisted in a deep scowl as he attempts to shove the men off but even still, he is easily one of the most attractive people Tony has ever laid eyes on. And he would consider himself to have relatively high standards. 

“Wait,” Tony says, voice projected but not shouting, a calm order that leaves no room for disobeyment. 

His men immediately stop wrestling with the officer, and even the brickhouse ceases his movements, turning sea-blue eyes on to Tony with so much ferocity and cold anger that Tony almost takes a step back. But no, Tony is not easily intimidated, and is even better at hiding it, so he stands up straighter and gives the officer an unimpressed look. 

He takes a step closer, invading the man’s personal space intentionally, and gives him a smirk. 

“Where did they find this one?” he asks to no one in particular and a few members of his crew give quiet laughs. He continues his examination and lifts the man’s chin, moving it to bring those blue eyes back to his own. The man yanks his head away and spits at Tony’s feet. 

Tony grins. “Good. I like a challenge.” 

The venom in the officer’s look could kill but Tony is unbothered. 

“He was the captain on the Centurion,” one of the men says from behind Tony. “Took out two of our own without a weapon.” Clint isn’t one to exaggerate, isn’t one to speak from a place of fear or trepidation, but something in his voice bids Tony pause. Two of his crew. Weaponless. 

He considers for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully as he eyes the officer from head to toe, gaze dripping and slow and he fights off a smile when he sees the other captain’s ears redden. “It would be a waste to dispose of such...virility,” he considers aloud, turning to his crew. His gaze returns to the officer as he adds, “But I can’t trust you won’t take out more men, can I?” 

The question is rhetorical, Tony knows he won’t be getting an answer out of his crew and he doubts this man will give any input. Those icy eyes are fixed on Tony with a barely suppressed rage, something tensing in every muscle fiber, straining to get free. 

Tony’s lips twitch in a friendly smile and he paces before the man, still held back carefully by three of Tony’s, though he doesn’t appear to be struggling any longer. He makes a short show of considering his options before stopping directly in front of the officer, face just a few inches from his own.He sheds his amicable mask and meets those eyes with a look of his own, one without the bullshit or the arrogance; one that says ‘you only have one chance.’

“You are outnumbered,” he begins, gesturing to the rest of the ship where his crew of over fifty people watch on, pretending to busy themselves with their duties, but Tony knows they are all listening with one ear. He leans even closer, dropping his voice so that only the officer will hear him. “You’re strong, you know this, but you’re also smart enough to know that you couldn’t even dent my numbers before we took you out.” 

The officer is still meeting his gaze, unblinking, face a blank slate exposing absolutely nothing except for the anger in the pools of his eyes. He barely even blinks. 

“You are pretty, but do not for a moment think I won’t hesitate to throw you off this ship if you try anything.” 

The man stares unblinkingly, not a flicker of recognition that Tony has just spoken. 

“Nod to show me you understand.” 

The air hangs heavily for a moment as the crew watches with bated breath but Tony has an easy, apathetic expression as he awaits the response. The crew isn’t even pretending to do their work anymore, just watching for that tepid moment, and then,  _ there, _ the slight nod that barely dips his chin, eyes resolute to his fate. 

“Excellent,” Tony says with a shark grin, clasping his hands in front of him. “Put him to work,” he says, nodding at the men who have been holding the captain back, and they release him slowly, watching carefully for an attack that never comes. 

He pulls Nat aside on his way back to his chambers. “Watch him today. If he slips up, if he so much as breathes in the direction of one of them, I want to know.” 

She gives a swift nod and turns silently on her heel. 

…

Tony is admiring the view as Steve, (Nat had found out the officer’s name), hoists the sail, bare arms exposed, providing an excellent view of corded muscles that flex and shift as he tugs the rope.

He’s been on board for nearly a month now, a silent, brooding force that does not engage with Tony, which is fine by him. He enjoys a good game of cat and mouse. Tony’s twink of the week is at his side and when Steve glances up and just so happens to lock eyes with Tony, he pulls the young man, a slight, blonde little thing with a fantastic ass, to his side and gropes it obscenely. 

The blonde laughs and buries his face into Tony’s neck but Tony isn’t paying attention to  _ this _ blonde. He sends a wink over to Steve who turns a magnificent shade of red and glares with morbid disgust, turning back to his task at hand. 

…

“Captain!” A banging on his door. He wasn’t sleeping but still prefers his late nights to be undisturbed by anyone that isn’t a prostitute or a fuck buddy. The ones without company, he uses for planning. This is one such night and he wonders grouchily what could warrant such an event other than an attack on the ship. 

He flings the door open with a gruff, “What?” and is surprised to see Natasha standing there alone, her usual mask of stoic indifference gone with a hint of worry in her eyes. “What’s wrong, Nat?” he asks with a softer tone that he knows that she doesn’t need, but she’s always been one of his favorites. 

“It’s Rogers.” She had taken a liking to Rogers, Tony had noticed, or as close a thing to a liking as she really got with anyone, but there was certainly a mutual respect on both fronts when it came to the two of them. From what little Tony had actually observed, at least. “He’s had a spat with Rumlow and Pierce.” 

“Any casualties? Everyone alright?” 

“Rumlow has a broken arm at least and I think Pierce has a concussion. They are being seen to. Rogers is mostly unharmed.”

“Mostly?” 

She refuses to elaborate. 

“Get him. Rogers. Bring him here.” With a quick nod, she’s gone. 

A knock comes a few minutes later, interrupting Tony’s pacing across the room. 

“Enter.” 

Steve opens the door a second later, by the looks of it, alone. He closes the door behind him softly, never turning his back to Tony, though he refuses to look directly at him. Tony gives him an appraising look, noting the bloody knuckles and black eye as well as the splitting lip that is no longer bleeding. 

“I thought we had an understanding,” Tony says, breaking the tense silence between them. “You don’t piss me off, and I let you live.” His voice has none of the humor, none of the teasing arrogance that usually emerges to mess with Steve, but right now, he’s a hair trigger away from angry and he doesn’t have the patience for niceties. 

Steve still isn’t looking at him, staring blankly at the wall across the room, past Tony. Tony takes a step forward, still several feet away. 

“ _ Hey,” _ Tony says sharply and Steve’s head snaps up, eyes finally meeting Tony’s, and yes, there it is, the fierceness that cannot be broken, but he is lacking the burning anger that he usually fixes Tony with. He is resolute, and he looks...exhausted. “What reason do I have not to call them in here right now and toss you overboard?”

It’s phrased like a question but they both know he isn’t really asking for an answer. 

Steve’s mouth tightens minutely and his nostrils flare. “You don’t have one. But you didn’t when you first captured me either.” His voice is deep but soft, strong and commanding, and it is at this moment that Tony realizes this is the first time he’s ever heard the other man speak. 

“Fair,” Tony acquiesces, lips twitching before he can stop them, but no, he isn’t playing this game. This man is the reason two members of his crew are wounded. “So before I kill you,” Tony begins, pacing the room with his back to Steve. He knows that the man could probably break his neck with time to spare before help could come for Tony. But he knows that Steve won’t, and he is drunk on the knowledge that even though Steve could do any number of things, he still hasn’t, even with Tony threatening his life. “Let me ask you this. Why wait so long to attack my crew? Why those men in particular?”

The unspoken ‘why not come after me?’ hangs between them. 

Steve just stares at Tony for a few dense seconds before he looks at his own feet, expression unchanging. His lips are as pursed as they can be with the split one and his brows are tugged together. His jaw twitches and he releases some of the tension in his mouth. Steve’s lip is bleeding again. 

“If you value your life at all, I would start talking.”

Steve’s nostrils flare again and something flashes in those blue eyes as they meet Tony’s, but Tony is not a patient man. 

“They tried to touch me,” Steve finally,  _ finally _ admits, so quietly that Tony almost thinks he imagined it. 

Tony blinks, entirely unprepared for this response. Though he supposes it makes sense. Steve isn’t stupid, that much he has proven, and he had known the consequences of fighting with Tony’s crew and it happened anyway. He should have known, should have foreseen the possibility of him being provoked with more than insults and words; Lord knew Tony had done it enough times with no reaction out of Steve other than an eyeroll or ignoring him altogether. 

There is an emotion in his gut, something he cannot name, but he knows anger is the underlying factor. Two of his men had touched Steve, had harassed him and then beaten him. There is a ribbon of possessiveness that laces through the anger, and he knows he has no right to it, but he is the damned captain of this ship and that used to mean something. 

He turns away from Steve and sucks in a shaky, steeling breath. When he turns back to Steve, he must see some of the rage in his eyes because his posture stiffens and his hands clench, entire body wreaking tension. Tony walks past him smoothly, not quite brushing by but close enough that he can feel the other’s body heat. 

He opens the door and calls into the darkness. “Nat.” Low and behold, a moment later, his favorite redhead makes her way down the hall. 

“Captain?” 

“Would you please inform Rumlow and Pierce that they will be spending the next few days in the cells, and as soon as we reach land, they won’t be setting foot on this ship again?” 

She nods, lips quirking in an almost smile, but Tony can tell that she’s pleased. 

“Take Sam with you, though I doubt you’ll need it. And should anyone ask, inform them that these are the consequences for insubordination when I am feeling  _ most _ generous.” 

“Yes, sir,” she replies quietly, the ‘sir’ laced with sarcasm in their own form of a private joke. Nat is off without another word and Tony closes the door behind her. 

Tony takes a deep breath, still facing the oak door, before steeling himself to turn around. He glances at Steve who is still standing stoically but without the tension from a minute before. His brows are pulled together slightly with a question that he does not voice. 

Tony breezes by him and grabs a bowl, filling it with some of their fresh water. He returns a moment later with the water and the damp cloth. He gestures to the sofa by the fire, direction clear. 

Steve assesses him for a heavy moment and then takes a seat at the very edge of the couch, seemingly ready to spring up at any moment. Tony seats himself next to him, allowing plenty of space between them at first before raising the cloth slowly so that his intentions are clear. 

Steve leans away, hands fisted at his sides. Tony lowers the cloth. 

“Believe me, I’m not gonna grope you. Some of my men attacked you, and I just want…” He gestures with his hands uselessly, and Steve is looking at him with something akin to curiosity in his eyes. “Think what you want about me, but rape doesn’t get me off,” Tony finishes darkly. The words taste sour in his mouth so he spits them out quickly, wondering if Steve would really think so little of him. 

Steve glances at his face, searching for something in Tony’s eyes, and it appears that he finds it because he extends his hands for Tony to clean his knuckles. They sit in silence for a few minutes, nothing but the sound of the fire crackling beside them, and Steve doesn’t so much as wince as Tony gently cleans his raw knuckles. 

He can feel Steve’s gaze flickering to him over and over again before he quickly looks away every time Tony is about to catch him. Tony stands and fetches some cloth to bandage his hands with and Steve continues his brief spurts of staring until finally Tony pauses in wrapping the hands and looks up at him as if to say, “well?” 

His eyes dip to Steve’s throat as the blonde swallows thickly before speaking. “Why do you care if they touch me?” Tony must look taken aback because Steve hastens to continue. “I’ve cost you two more of your men.” 

Tony doesn’t know how to explain, didn’t know that this type of thing would  _ require _ explaining, and while he will gladly admit that he is eight shades of asshole, there are certain things that even go against  _ his _ questionable morals. 

“I don’t need men that go against my direct orders,” he finally states plainly, picking up the damp cloth to clean Steve’s face, but he hesitates a moment because Steve is there looking at him with big blue eyes that seem so open for just a moment with a tiny wrinkle in between his brows like he can’t quite figure Tony out, and he’s struck by the sheer intimacy of the act. 

Then those eyes flutter closed, a brief moment of trust and silent request for Tony to continue. It makes his stomach feel tight as he places the barest of pressures against Steve’s temple. He dabs at the blood very carefully and luckily it is mostly dry and looks worse than it is; the cut is small and not too deep. 

“What were those orders?” Steve murmurs softly, voice a deep rumble from within his chest. The eyes have opened again momentarily, seemingly gaging Tony’s reaction to the question. 

He shrugs minutely, rinsing the cloth again and moving to the split lip. “That no harm was to come to you.” 

They sit in silence for a heavy minute, and while Tony cleans the lip, Steve does not close his eyes again and the close eye contact is intimidating to say the least. Those eyes are so,  _ distractingly _ blue. It’s ridiculous. Finally, the lip is clean and Steve is looking less like a wounded soldier. 

Tony stands and Steve immediately follows suit, hesitating for a moment before Tony returns with material to rewrap his hands if necessary later. He hands it to him gingerly, careful to avoid touching his skin because he thinks he’s had enough contact with Steve for the day,  _ thank you very much _ . 

“If anyone ever… tries anything again, let me know,” Tony says by way of goodbye at the door. Steve nods slightly, that crease between his brows having returned as he exits the room without a word. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Goodmorning, Nat, Rogers,” he says, giving a nod to each and an extra salacious grin for Steve. He doesn’t even receive a look of recognition, though Nat does throw him a nod. 

Damn. 

The next morning, at least a look. One could call it a glare. Tony would generously call it a look. But hey, progress? 

Another afternoon, Tony makes a big show of leering as Steve tugs hard at the rope to tie the sail. Steve ties the knots carefully, not throwing Tony a second glance. Tony approaches, drinking water in hand. He passes it to Steve who nods his thanks before taking a hearty swig, head tipped back and throat bobbing as he swallows. 

Tony’s pants feel slightly tighter than a moment before, but that is neither here nor there. 

“Can you do that again with the shirt off this time? Or maybe everything off? You can start at the sail hoisting, I’ll watch from here.” 

Steve looks like he’s torn between wanting to send Tony a dirty look or just ignore him altogether, but yet again, Steve Rogers is anything but predictable. 

“In your dreams. Captain.” Big, blue, not at all naive eyes, though the look Steve is giving him is one of virtuous innocence. 

“Yes, you see my problem then! Give my dreams life experience to draw from,” Tony calls, but Steve already has his back turned and is walking away. 

… 

“French flag ahead, Captain!” Clint calls from the crows nest. 

“Excellent,” Tony replies with a grin but he knows it’s too quiet for Clint to hear him. “Ready the cannons!” he calls to the crew, walking across the deck. “Portside, no more than two minutes!” 

He hears the familiar round of “Aye, Captain”s and smiles. It’s been too long since his last raid, and even better, he fucking hates the French. 

The first boom of the cannon comes seconds later and they are off. Tony oversees most of it, firing shots here and there and looking to where help is needed, calling out orders all the while. Soon, they are close enough to leap aboard the French ship and attack from the inside out. 

Tony leads the attack, quickly disarming one Frenchman and turning to another. He laughs, enjoying the thrill of the battle, the salty sea and easy sway of the ship as it, too, engages in their dance of swords. His crew fight beside him, dispersing throughout the ship while a few remain on Tony’s to man the cannons and keep a lookout. 

He disarms another soldier, a kid that can’t be any older than fifteen, and takes a step back. “Stay down, kid,” he warns and the boy looks at him with wide eyes and glances around at the chaos before nodding. 

He has just finished taking down another one when a shot rings out, closer than the cracking cannons on both ships. No, this is a gunshot and it’s too close, only ringing out seconds before a lancing pain shoots through Tony’s right bicep. 

The sword clatters to the floor and skids out of reach but Tony is quickly distracted by another man, this one older than Tony and twice as large. He holds the gun in his left hand, extended and aimed directly at Tony’s head. Well, this certainly isn’t the worst way Tony thought he would go. Overall, not a bad day. 

Tony resists the urge to reach for his sword, his gun, anything within reach, really, but the sword is across the deck and the gun is currently being manned by Natasha, their best shot. The guy smirks sinisterly, exposing yellow and missing teeth, and Tony bites his tongue against a rude comment. Although if he’s going to die anyway… 

He doesn’t even get the chance. Just as the man flicks off the safety, he chokes and arches forward, a sword directly through the middle of his chest where his sternum probably used to be. The man chokes on a cough again, this time spraying red into the air. He collapses at Tony’s feet. 

Behind him, Steve stands, stoic and without emotion. His face is blank, staring down at the body that is no longer moving with the barest hint of disgust, but that may be Tony imparting his own bias. 

He doesn’t look shocked, that much anyone could say, doesn’t look surprised at having killed a man, which shows Tony this is far from his first time. His massive chest is the only thing moving, heaving with breath that fogs and dissipates around him. 

Tony straightens up, or at least he tries to. He certainly hadn’t noticed the second bullet that seems to have grazed his side. Oh well, he’s certainly had worse and both bullets had missed bone or organs. But now for the matter of finishing the battle and getting back to his own ship. 

His right knee buckles, the blood loss and shock wearing off to give way to dizziness, but before he can even fall, Steve is there, hoisting him up carefully, conscious to avoid his injured arm and side. If he had more blood in his brain at the moment, he might have thought about the fact that this man who  _ saved his life _ is now helping him stay on his feet with his big, sculpted arms and broody gaze. 

The shouts around them are beginning to die down, the French have been subdued. Tony adjusts his coat to hide his wounded side, standing up straighter and gritting his teeth against the slice of pain the action causes. Steve is still standing next to him at the ready and Tony puts more space between them. The last thing he needs is for his crew to see him in his weakened state. 

Tony oversees the rest of the looting, has the Frenchmen thrown in cells since many of them are too young to even grow a beard. He gives orders from his own ship and keeps his peripheral vision focused on Steve engrossed in his tasks, though he occasionally glances up at Tony with something like disapproval in his gaze. 

He exchanges a few words with Nat, vision clouding around the edges when there is suddenly a presence beside him. Nat disappears in a blink and, once again, Steve is at his side with a more critical gaze. 

“You’re bleeding,” he murmurs, eyes glancing pointedly at the floorboards below Tony’s feet which have two drops of blood from where his coat has begun to soak through. Coming from any other person, Tony might actually think they were words of concern, but from Steve, they sound like nothing more than a statement of fact. 

“Damn,” he mutters lowly to himself and adjusts the coat once more but there is little that can be done anymore. He bites back a wince and glances at Steve who is still watching him cooly. He purses his lips and begins his descent below deck, pausing to tell Sam to relay that he does not want to be disturbed. 

He strips himself of his coat and shirt carefully, hissing through his teeth as the material catches on the drying blood. His mouth has a metallic taste and he wrinkles his nose as he examines himself in the glass. 

“Said he doesn’t want to be disturbed,” says a man outside his door, muffled through the wood but still dragging Tony’s attention from his wound to the voices outside. 

“He’s requested to see me.” Uh, no, he certainly has not, he does not want to see  _ anybody _ right now, or rather for anyone to see him. Surely the guard dog won’t fall for  _ that _ … 

But then the door is opening and Tony barely has time to grab his coat and thrust his arms through it, (and fuck, that was a bad idea), before Steve steps in. His huge frame nearly fills the doorway and he turns away from Tony for a moment to close the door softly behind him. 

“I’m pretty sure my orders were clear, and I’m even more sure that I didn’t send for you,” Tony says by way of greeting, starting to fold his arms protectively across his chest before remembering his injured bicep. Steve clearly notices the aborted movement as his eyes flicker down to both wounds which are poorly covered by the reddening coat before he meets Tony’s gaze again, an eyebrow raised dubiously. 

“You’re still bleeding,” Steve replies, as though that in any way responds to Tony’s accusation. 

“And?” 

“I didn’t think you’d let anyone help you, or tell anybody. Figured it doesn’t matter if I do since I already know.” 

Tony blinks, trying to process the longest string of words he’s ever heard out of Steve’s mouth, all while dealing with the ever pulsing pain from the gunshots and blood loss, not to mention how large and beautiful this man is. Steve stares at him for another moment, Tony no doubt gaping like a fish the whole time, and then gives a sharp nod and busies himself around Tony’s chambers. 

He retrieves the material Tony keeps for bandaging as well as the cloth and bucket of water. Good memory. And while Tony is equal parts impressed and annoyed, his brain lacks the capacity to do anything except watch with idle fascination as Steve approaches him with the materials. 

“Your coat,” Steve states, not a command but not a request. Tony sits dumbly before starting to remove the coat. What does he have to lose? 

He grits his teeth when he starts to remove his right arm, the cloth tugging on the clotted wound, and Steve’s brows crease in the middle slightly. He wets the cloth when Tony’s clothing has been removed, sitting next to him on the sofa in nothing but his pants. 

“What are you doing?” Tony asks when Steve dabs at the wound on his arm, even though the answer is obvious. They both know what he is truly asking, Tony thinks, and is proven correct by Steve’s response. 

“Returning the favor.” Steve doesn’t glance up to reply, fixated entirely on cleaning the arm which doesn’t look as bad now that it isn’t bleeding heavily. It’s barely more than a graze, much like the one on his side. Just a flesh wound, will heal in no time. 

“And why would you want to do that for me?” Tony doesn’t know why he’s just sitting here, why he’s letting Steve coddle him almost like a child, but he does. He lets Steve carefully clean the wounds and move him around to have better access. 

“I don’t like owing people.” Something in Steve’s gaze darkens at the words and he still isn’t looking at Tony’s face. 

Steve pulls out some thread and a needle used for stitching and Tony shakes his head. “I can do that.” 

“You’re right handed,” Steve replies, batting Tony away before tugging his arm gently into place so that he can access it. 

They sit in silence for some time, reminiscent of the last time they were alone in this room together, but this time is different. For one, Tony isn’t angry this time, doesn’t want to throw anyone in the ocean currently, and for another, while Tony is fine with helping others when needed and feeling like he’s helpful, he is significantly less keen on letting others help him, especially broody tall muscular others. 

The sting of the needle is a familiar one, but Steve is careful, precise, his fingers surprisingly nimble for being such a large man. He holds Tony’s bicep with his left hand while the other carefully stitches, his thumb occasionally brushing against Tony’s skin almost imperceptibly. 

He moves on to Tony’s side, this graze will only need two or three stitches, it isn’t large at all, but Steve leans in so close to see his work that Tony can almost feel his breath on his exposed skin. It was an assault of sensations, cool air on his back while his chest and stomach were warmed facing the fire, face heated simply from the proximity of such an attractive man so close… perhaps it’s been too long since Tony fucked someone. It’s been over a week. 

The air is too heavy between them, the skin of his torso too sensitive for Steve’s hand holding him in place. 

“If you think that I’m going to have some big change of heart and set you free because of this…” Tony warns, but some of the heat of the threat is lost because Steve is tightening a bandage around his arm and he can’t quite bite back a terrifically manly whimper. Steve doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even crack a smile at the sound, just glances up at Tony with concerned eyes before finishing his task. 

“Maybe I’m just nice. Or an idiot,” he finally replies, finishing the bandaging on Tony’s torso before meeting his eyes once more. 

“There’s no such thing as nice,” Tony breathes, quieter than a moment before, and when had Steve’s face gotten so close to his own. 

“An idiot, then.” Steve’s voice is even more hushed than Tony’s, just a hair more than a whisper, and this close in the light of the fire, Tony can see just how blue those eyes are, surrounded by dark lashes that throw shadows on his cheeks every time he blinks. 

“And what do you gain from this?” 

“Maybe I’m just selfish. Maybe I just don’t want it on my conscience that I haven’t repaid you for helping me before. Maybe this will make it easier to throw you overboard in the future.” The words are said without a smile, without emotion, but as Tony fights with whether or not this man can possibly be serious right now, something in his face cracks, his right eyebrow twitching for half a second and his lips pursing slightly. 

But then… there. The smallest smile Tony has ever seen, and yet, coincidentally the largest one he’s seen on Steve. A joke, then. This, he can work with. 

“Or, maybe you like having me around. Don’t want me getting hurt and all that, ay, Rogers?” 

And Tony almost regrets the words, almost wants to take them back, but this is who he is, this is how he’s always been, and he can never seem to bite back the words in time. 

Another wry, half smile accompanied by an eyeroll. “Something like that.” He stands and brushes invisibile dirt from his pants awkwardly as Tony joins him. 

He almost thanks him, he really does, but too soon is Steve giving a nod and heading out the door. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a minor warning for this chapter, see end notes for it because the warning is kind of a spoiler. Also friendly reminder that this is rated E ;)

Something changes after that day. Tony doesn’t know whether it’s him or Steve, more likely both, but things are different from the next morning on. Steve no longer glares at him and Tony… well, Tony is still Tony, still the prodding, arrogant ass he always is, but now that he isn’t actively trying to get under Steve’s skin, their tenuous relationship has shifted. 

Steve is still quiet, still doesn’t interact much with Tony, but now, when their eyes meet, Steve’s don’t immediately drop and return to his task or conversation. Sometimes, they linger just an extra moment that squeezes something in Tony’s stomach in a way that he cannot decide is pleasant or not. The man saved his life, whether Tony likes it or not, and that has to mean something, right? He had been telling Natasha a sarcastic comment just the other day when he saw Steve with his back partially turned fighting back a smile. 

They are going to dock near England for their compensation for stealing from the French. Two days, maybe three if the wind isn’t on their side. This is when Tony decides. He sends for Steve after dinner the night before they dock, waiting less than patiently in his office. 

He fiddles with his compass, passing the time by taking it apart and putting it back together. A knock comes less than a minute later, although Tony can’t fully trust his perception of time at the moment. Steve enters, face inquisitive but he says nothing as he closes the door. 

Tony gestures to the seat on the other side of his desk. Steve gives him a curious look, mouth pinched in a hard line, but he sits anyway. 

“We’re docking about three kilometers from London. We’re owed some English money and we’ll be doing our own discreet… operations, but I figured it’s close enough that it’ll be a good place for you to take your leave.” 

The crease between Steve’s brows disappears as understanding seems to overtake him. “You’re dismissing me.”

“No, I’m freeing you. I’m giving you what you wanted since you stepped on this ship, what I should have given you before.” Steve’s mouth is a hard line, his eyes giving away nothing. 

“How do you know I won’t come looking for you? That I won’t find a crew and hunt you down?” 

At this, Tony smiles, filled with the familiar pity of having to explain something that he has long understood to someone who will disagree. “Because you won’t. Even if you could find us again,” and Tony doubts this very much, though he supposes if anyone has the will, it would be Rogers. Still, he continues. “You wouldn’t. You’re too honorable, and it’s your weakness.”

“And what do you know about honor?” Steve leans forward in the seat, shoulders tense and back straight. The man radiates tension, and Tony has known for a long time that this man is hot headed at the best of times, but it’s been a while since he looked seconds away from wanting to beat Tony to a pulp. He looks to be a second away from standing and slamming his hands on the desk. For some reason, the barely quelled anger makes Tony’s heart quicken and a bead of sweat drip down the back of his neck. 

“I know it’ll get you in trouble.” 

Silence falls, heavy and stagnant, the room filled with the hollow sounds of the ocean outside and the creaking of the floorboards of the deck above them. The anger and disappointment in those familiar blue eyes is almost too much to bear, but Tony holds his ground, cannot seem to look away. 

A long beat passes and Steve stands, something so hard in his eyes that it’s cracked. He leaves without another word. The pointed softness of him closing the door is almost worse than if he’d slammed it. 

… 

They drop the anchor just off of London early the next morning. Tony doesn’t leave his quarters under the guise of planning for their next expeditions. He is not disturbed for what could be several hours or a couple days, Tony doesn’t bother keeping track. 

There is a sharp knock that wrenches Tony of his thoughts, and before he can formulate a, “go away,” or “not now,” the door is yanked open violently. Tony calmly looks up from his papers to see Steve standing there, all sculpted muscle and furrowed brows, mouth set in a hard, downwards line. It’s times like these that Tony remembers that Steve is practically larger than life; the man seems to tower over Tony despite Steve only being half a foot or so taller. Right now, he takes up the whole room, the whole space, all of the air and Tony has to suck in a steadying breath to remember who exactly is in charge here. 

Tony raises his eyebrows in an expression that clearly says, “Yes?” 

Steve crosses his arms across his chest, staring down at Tony with more anger than he has in a while. Tony tries not to be distracted by the way his biceps flex as he crosses his arms. “So you can never shut up at any given hour of the day, and now that you kick me off, you can’t find a word for goodbye?” 

“Never been too fond of goodbyes, waste of time, too cliche, take your pick.” 

“You really are an ass.” 

Tony raises an eyebrow, glancing up from his papers. “I don’t think I’ve ever denied that,” he agrees, finally dropping the paperwork onto his desk and giving Steve his full attention. “What do you want?” he asks more tiredly than a moment before, the last few nights without sleep catching up suddenly. “You want me to beg you to stay? Ask you to take me into your big, strong arms and sail away with me? I’m not a maiden, Rogers,” he finishes pointedly and Steve honestly has the audacity to roll his eyes at that. He looks Tony up and down as if to say  _ obviously. _

“If I wanted you to stay, I could make you,” Tony throws out as though it’s a piece for casual conversation rather than an empty threat, but still Steve says nothing. “Well I hate to be the first one to tell you this, but you’re no longer of use to me.”

Steve scoffs, the first noise he’s made in a minute. “Or maybe you don’t like knowing someone has seen you weak. Maybe you don’t like being around people that see through the asshole façade and that you’re just as human as the rest of us… that a part of you wants to do what’s right.” 

He stands suddenly, the desk an enormous barrier between them. “Oh, no Rogers, don’t project your self-righteous bullshit onto me.” He rounds the desk, looking up at Steve and simultaneously cursing and praising their height difference. “I didn’t keep you on board for any other reason than I thought it would be entertaining, maybe a few fucks and then we’d both be on our merry way. But now I know you’re a boring, sanctimonious, pretentious dick and I don’t need you around anymore.” 

When did they get this close? He doesn’t remember taking so many steps so that they are less than a foot away from one another, but now he can see just how blue those eyes are again. They are nearly chest to chest, each of them panting, and for a moment, Tony thinks Steve might actually be dumb enough to punch him as he’s so clearly wanted to since they first met. 

And there is something dark in those eyes, something fiery and angry and hot, but Tony doesn’t have time to analyze it because he’s suddenly being shoved against the wall, pressing against him with all of his huge mass and sculpted physique. And Tony, despite himself, is tugging Steve closer by the collar of his shirt, lifting his chin to meet Steve as he shoves his mouth onto Tony’s. 

And yes,  _ fuck _ , this is the ferocity Tony knows Steve has been keeping at bay for so long, the animal that he just wants to fucking wreck him, so he lets Steve press him against the wall, thigh slotted between his legs and grinding harshly against Tony as his tongue shoves its way into Tony’s mouth. 

And Tony, for the life of him, has never been so hard in his life, everything is hard from Steve’s grip on the hair at the nape of his neck to the hard length in Steve’s pants that rolls against his own in a brutal, punishing rhythm. 

“Fuck, Tony,” Steve grunts, breath hot next to Tony’s ear and Tony doesn’t try to stop the groan that rumbles through his chest. His hands are everywhere, both of them feeling quickly and hurriedly as though at any moment they are going to be ripped apart. Which is a fair thought, one that Tony doesn’t bother occupying though, because he’d rather not consider how long it will take Steve to come to his senses and shove him off. 

He’s not sure which one of them is more eager to get Steve’s shirt off as they both scramble to lift the hem quickly before Tony finally manages to toss it somewhere. Tony’s own loose-fitting shirt is removed by Steve’s surprisingly nimble fingers for such a large man, which makes Tony think about other things that those fingers can do. 

Steve’s lips are fastened to Tony’s throat and collarbone, placing heated licks and sucks to the sensitive skin, tenderly nibbling at the muscle where neck meets shoulder before giving it a sharp bite. Tony gasps and is instantly soothed by the tongue that laves over the mark and Tony wonders if he ought to tell Steve not to leave any visible marks but decides against it. The crew will assume he’s sleeping with one of the wenches at the pub near the dock. 

Tony can’t decide if Steve is winding him up as some form of punishment, somewhere let out his frustration with Tony that has been pent up for some time now, because his hands aren’t gentle, none of his touches are, though to be fair, neither are Tony’s. Steve’s teeth scrape at his neck and collarbone and he knows he will bear the marks tomorrow, his hands digging into Tony’s hips, his back, anything to draw their bodies impossibly closer. 

Tony doesn’t hold back either. He is finally allowed to touch, to marr the perfect body that he has been admiring for so long, finally able to leave his own bruises the size of his fingerprints, and he isn’t going to hold back now, doesn’t have any hope of it with Steve’s mouth and tongue on his skin and his hard body pressed up against his own in all the right places. 

Steve grunts again when Tony rolls his hips forward to grind their crotches together once more, and already the friction is delicious and Tony is harder than he can remember being since his adolescence. 

“Come on, Rogers,” Tony bites out as warm fingers trace his bare abdomen and toy at his nipples which are already hard and peaked. Steve finally moves up once again, stealing deep kisses before Tony finally pushes him back. His eyes are dark and hooded, pupils blown wide and lips parted as he sucks in short breaths. Shirtless in the light of the fire and flushed oh so prettily, Tony wants to eat him alive. 

Tony presses him backwards, crowding his space until they reach the rug by the fire. Steve watches him with baited breath, they are both still close enough to be breathing the same air. His hands are on Tony’s hips, pupils blown but touch light as he awaits Tony’s direction. And isn’t that an interesting development? Tony will think later about how this man will practically shove him into a wall but still waits for permission when things go further. 

Eyes not leaving Steve’s, Tony slowly drops to his knees. He watches Steve’s face as his eyes darken further and something full of wicked promise sweeps across his face. Tony can’t wait to take this man apart. He wishes this wasn’t so obviously a one time deal, he wishes he had the time to take mental notes of exactly what made each facial expression, what lick caused which gasp and so on. 

Steve looks larger than life as he stands over Tony for a moment, and distantly Tony knows what this looks like, how some people choose to interpret the act of sucking a man off as somehow something demeaning, something lesser, as though in the act of kneeling one is ceding all power and proclaiming one’s position to be lower, but Tony has never bought into that. 

Tony has the power right now, Tony is in control of Steve’s pleasure because Steve is  _ letting _ him touch him, suck him. And with Steve looking down at him with dark eyes, broad chest in all its naked glory and erection proudly tenting his pants, Tony has never felt more powerful. Tony himself is hard and aching between his legs, clothed too tightly, but that can wait. 

He tugs at Steve’s waistband roughly and then again when at first the material doesn’t budge. Steve fumbles with some of the fastenings for a moment, which is probably made more difficult by his protruding erection and Tony’s wandering hands, but Tony finally has permission to touch and explore the miles of smooth, sun-kissed skin that covers sculpted muscles and hard strength, and Tony isn’t about to give that up any time soon. 

Finally, the material is yanked free, none-too-gently on Tony’s end, but he has more pressing matters to attend to, like the hard cock that springs forward as soon as it’s released from the restrictions. 

Tony chuckles, looking up at Steve again with a shark's grin. “Someone’s eager.” He thinks Steve would have said something, his ears reddened at their tips and he opened his mouth but all that came out was a sudden gust of breath. 

“Tony,” he says, like a warning, like a prayer as Tony finally leans forward and closes the distance between himself and the cock he’s been thinking about for far too long. 

It, like the rest of the man, is beautiful, so Tony really shouldn’t be surprised, but it still takes his breath away. It’s on the longer side, and thick too, flushed a deep red at the tip that has the beginnings of a drop of liquid. Tony can’t wait to get his mouth on it. 

He licks that tiny, tempting drop at the slit and Steve’s hips twitch. This is going to be good. He gives another few soft licks, moistening the head before he draws it into his mouth, just letting it rest on his tongue for a few moments to enjoy the heavy weight of it accompanied by the slightly salty, musky taste of Steve. He hums softly as he draws Steve further into his mouth, still slow, still teasing. 

Tony bobs his head slowly, still not taking in the entire length, and he brings a hand to wrap around the base to aid in the friction. He looks up at Steve as he pulls back so his lips wrap delicately around the tip, staring up from under his lashes and his stomach tightens when he meets Steve’s eyes. 

Steve is looking at him like he’s never seen him before, like he can’t imagine looking at anything else, staring at Tony with his lips parted, brows drawn up in pleasure, and blue eyes darker than the night sky with an emotion so intense that Tony doesn’t have a name for it. 

A hand comes to cup Tony’s cheek, and Tony hollows them to suck more forcefully on the hard, pulsing cock in his mouth. He watches with immense satisfaction as Steve’s eyes roll at the movement and a tiny puff of air that could be called moan escapes his lips. At this, all of Tony’s resolve snaps and he dismisses all attempts to keep this slow, to savor this. 

He bobs his head smoothly but with increased rhythm, the hand wrapped around the base now moving as well to meet his lips, tightening, twisting the ways Tony likes to jack himself. Steve seems to enjoy it because he can’t seem to keep in the small moans and grunts that quietly make their escape, and knowing that someone so quiet cannot keep their pleasure silent makes Tony’s cock twitch in his pants. Which reminds him… 

He hastens his pace even more, grabs the hand on his cheek and guides it to the back of his head to encourage Steve to control the pace. Even at the gesture, even with his dick in Tony’s throat, he’s hesitant of overstepping, of taking too much control away. He’s a sap, that much is clear, and gone for the moment is the fiery anger and power from minutes ago and is replaced by the Steve who bandaged Tony’s wounds, the one who looks down at him with a desperation to meet his finish but simultaneously trying to capture every detail of their moment together. Tony tightens the hand around Steve’s and leaves it there to tangle into his hair and thrust into his mouth. 

Steve’s cock twitches violently on the next thrust, and if Tony had less practice, it might have made him choke, but instead he swallows around the hard length and reaches back to fondle gently at Steve’s balls. 

Steve makes a choked gasp, and, “Tony, I--” is the only warning he gets before salty liquid is shooting down his throat. He swallows carefully around Steve’s cock, allowing his mouth and throat to be used until Steve comes down, rolling his hips gently through his orgasm before finally slipping out. 

He is painfully hard in his pants, the combination of Steve’s taste on his tongue and the blissful noises of orgasm having brought Tony right to the edge, and he needs to get off. Now. Steve gulps in heaving breaths, his face flushed and chest covered in a slight sheen, and fuck, he really is beautiful. Tony sure knows how to pick them. 

Steve finally seems to come back to himself and looks down at Tony, smile suddenly shy despite practically throat fucking Tony two minutes ago. His eyes trail lower, gaze practically tangible, and Tony feels when they land on his proudly tenting crotch. He meets Steve’s eyes with a wicked grin and a moment later, after pulling his pants back up (sadly), Steve has dropped to his knees in front of him, urging him backwards until his back makes contact with the soft rug. 

They haven’t even made it to the bed, Tony remembers. Internally, he shrugs. This is as good a place as any, and Tony doesn’t have much time to contemplate because Steve crawls over him as quickly as he’s pushed down, a hand coming to toy at the drawstring at Tony’s pants. 

“Can I?” he asks, big blue eyes wide and curious, and still dark with arousal. Tony swallows and nods more enthusiastically than is probably necessary to make the point, but his balls already feel drawn up and tight and he feels like he’s been hard for about four hours. Time to get this show on the road. 

Steve chuckles, eyes soft and hooded from his orgasm. He looks young, almost carefree with the way he moves, with his easy smile that has never been given freely to Tony, but now stretches warmly across his face. Tony doesn’t know what to think about this sudden change so instead he thrusts his hips up into Steve’s trying to make his point clear. Steve’s pupils dilate once again, face still flushed, and the hand finally manages to get Tony’s pants down and off of his hips until they are discarded elsewhere. 

Tony’s dick is hard and weeping, flushed dark and twitching with Steve’s touches. Steve seems curious, watching him for a moment without touching him at all, and Tony briefly wonders if this is the first time he’s ever been with a man. 

Steve braces himself on one arm, hips in between Tony’s slightly spread legs, and his free hand begins to move. It starts away from the place that Tony is hard and aching, waiting for Steve’s touch, but Steve isn’t hurrying, and Tony almost wants to grumble something about him taking too long now that he’s had his orgasm, but he’s afraid if he says anything frowny Steve will come back and he’ll leave Tony hard and aching and Tony will never see him again. 

So he lets Steve explore, starting at Tony’s cheek with the soft brush of a thumb in a motion that resembles one from before, a tender stroke while Tony’s mouth was engaged in… less tender activities. Tony is too stunned to urge Steve to get a move on, trapped in his own skin in a swirl of emotions ranging from arousal to stunned surprise that they are really doing this, and something else that makes his stomach feel tight that does not resemble arousal, something he doesn’t want to think about. 

Steve’s fingers follow his eyes down Tony’s body, down his neck over a few sensitive areas that will have bruises tomorrow, across his collarbones with a feathers touch and then resting on his sternum for a moment. Tony is panting, despite the lack of real stimulation, and damn he needs to come. But this is… well it’s almost nice too. 

The thumb moves laterally to toy gently at Tony’s nipples and the motion sends Tony’s hips surging upwards and his head thrown back. Well that was new. Tony isn’t sure if it’s the three week erection that makes him so sensitive or if it's something about Steve’s touch. Either way, Tony definitely wasn’t prepared, but certainly isn’t complaining. 

He lets out a harsh breath, eyes closing involuntarily, and when he opens them again, Steve’s face is hovering above his own, a look of incredulous wonder in those blue eyes, and he watches Tony as the fingers brush against the sensitive nub once again. He’s teasing too, Tony realizes, he’s watching Tony for reactions with a curious smile on his face as he does it, as if Tony needed any more proof that Steve Rogers was annoyingly perfect. 

Again, Tony holds in a truly undignified whimper, but he doesn’t close his eyes as his face contorts in the pleasure the action sends straight to his groin. He’s always enjoyed being played with this way, but nothing has ever been like this, nothing could possibly match up to those eyes, wide and curious above a small smile or parted lips to let in breathless air. Nothing could have prepared him for all of this with Steve, who seems to be enjoying teasing Tony as much as he enjoyed the blowjob, which is definitely saying something considering Tony’s skills. And yes, he’s a narcissist, he’ll admit, but even an unbiased party would wax poetic about Tony’s blow job skills. 

Steve’s smiles and still looks impossibly shy as his hand trails lower, down Tony’s abs through the trail of hair that leads him to wrap around the base of Tony’s aching cock. It’s ridiculous, really, how this brick wall of a man can look so nervous, so careful while holding a cock in his hand, but he does it beautifully. Steve kisses him again, just as he gives one slow stroke, twisting his hand just a touch around the head, and that extra bit of friction has already gotten Tony closer than he would care to admit. 

Not that he could, with Steve’s tongue exploring his mouth as his hand set up a slow rhythm, too slow, but in the back of Tony’s non-sex addled mind, he knows this is probably for the best to avoid an embarrassingly quick finish. Even with the slow stroke and the obvious inexperience of the other’s hand, Steve’s mouth is hot and wet and delicious, his hand with nimble fingers so beautiful in the firelight around Tony’s erection, and is this really happening? 

Steve gives a tighter squeeze at the base and pulls just a tad more roughly on the upstroke, similar to how Tony touches himself but so much better because this is  _ Steve’s _ hand, not his own with some random fantasy in the middle of the night or some twink that could never call Tony on his shit or hold him down or take control. This is not going to last long, in fact this will be embarrassingly short for a hand job, but Tony decides he doesn’t care. 

Steve nips playfully at his lower lip and Tony gasps, cannot hold it in time, and Steve pulls away just to give Tony a smirk, the self-satisfied ass, before diving back in, sucking new patterns into Tony’s throat and chest. His other hand joins the one on Tony’s cock but ventures further, backwards to fondle delicately at Tony’s balls, the hand stroking him increasing speed and pressure to a near brutal pace and Tony is not going to last long, and then the hand explores further. 

Just as a finger presses insistently against Tony’s perinimium, his lips fasten around Tony’s sensitive nipple, biting gently, and the onslaught of sensation does it. Tony’s balls draw up and his cock bursts with a choked cry that Tony doesn’t bother trying to keep in. Steve works him through his climax, milking him of everything he’s got before the hands are retracted and the lips removed. 

Tony is still lying on the rug, chest heaving, gazing at imaginary patterns on the ceiling as he enjoys his post coital bliss. Too soon, however, reality returns and Tony remembers that he can’t have this, that Steve is leaving  _ today _ , should have left already. Tony sits up suddenly and Steve jumps before watching Tony make his way around the room. 

Tony locates his pants and pulls them on, not bothering with a shirt before he goes to resume sitting at his desk. He doesn’t look at Steve as he spreads the papers he was working on earlier, doesn’t look up at all. 

Steve hasn’t moved out of his periphery, still sitting by the fire and looking into it, and something, something rotten and decayed inside of Tony rears its ugly head because he wants Steve gone, wants him out of his life and gone for good. He’s completed his goal, gotten Steve off and gotten an orgasm of his own in the process, and now it’s time they both move on with their lives. 

“You’re dismissed,” he says quietly, knowing his voice will carry across the room despite not looking up from the papers. 

Steve says nothing, though Tony hears the rustling of him gathering and putting on his clothes, before the door opens and clicks shut, Steve leaving without a word. Tony sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before trying to put his mind to work once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is a kiss scene in which neither party asks for explicit consent before acting but the kiss and what follows is completely consensual. Obviously one should always, always ask before kissing/touching/etc another person, but since this is fiction and since Steve and Tony are both disasters in this, oh well.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony wakes up at his desk, unsticking his sweaty forehead from the wood, gross, and blinks groggily around him. He has the beginnings of a headache starting just behind his right eye, and he rubs at his temple in an attempt to abate it for the time being. He glances at his watch and sees it’s already seven. He’s been asleep for just over four hours. 

His back certainly feels like it as he straightens slowly, stretching his joints and rolling his shoulders as twinges in his neck and spine protest the movement. He cracks his jaw on a yawn and wipes a hand across his mouth. As he stands and passes the unassuming carpet, memories flood through him, unbidden. The stupid rug doesn’t look any different but Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to look at it the same way again. Even when Steve is long gone. 

He rubs at his eyes tiredly to dispel the images and then carries on to the washroom to prepare for the day. 

… 

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Rhodey points out idly in that way of his that makes it not an accusation but more an observation. He knows by now not to let too much concern seep through. “Which is marginally better than yesterday’s ‘year without sleep’ face.” 

Tony rolls his eyes and glares at his friend, walking with him to the upper deck to supervise for a bit. “I took a nap,” he concedes, not giving anything else away. 

“I’m proud of you, that must have been hard to admit. And do.” He fixes Tony with a truly shit-eating grin. 

Tony opens his mouth for another retort but is cut off suddenly when he spots a certain blonde head atop a body of a brick house hoisting the sail. What the fuck is he still doing here? 

He observes for a moment, watches those muscles flex and shift with movement, and now with the knowledge of what they feel like beneath his fingertips, how they twitch and shiver with pleasure. Steve ties the knots down to the side of the ship and turns, suddenly meeting Tony’s eyes as though sensing them on him and gives him an appraising look before jutting his chin in what could almost be called a nod. 

He looks good, well, he always does, but he looks rested, a certain light in his eyes that Tony hasn’t seen before, and who knew it only took getting laid for Steve to become a person? But that still doesn’t answer the question as to why he’s still here. 

Rhodey nudges him and he realizes that he’s probably been staring longer than necessary, or longer than usual he should say, and he shakes himself of images of miles of golden skin over sculpted muscle above him and the noises he made with Tony’s mouth around his cock. 

“Rogers,” he calls suddenly, and Steve turns quickly as though startled, but he quickly regains his composure and awaits Tony. “A word.” 

At this, Steve raises a brow but follows diligently a few steps behind into the hallway below deck. He considers going all the way to his office but does not want to have to look Steve in the eye in the same place that just last night he’d been choking on his dick. Besides, this should be quick. 

“I thought you were leaving.” 

Steve shrugs, as though what Tony had thought, what Tony had made clear to be an order, was inconsequential and hadn’t given him much pause. “I decided against it.” 

Tony resists the urge to huff a frustrated chuckle. “And what makes you think you’re still welcome here?” he asks pointedly, brows raised and arms crossed against his chest. 

Steve raises the eyebrow again, and if he thinks that because he’s seen Tony’s dick once he’s suddenly some pushover, he has another thing coming. “Fine. Send me overboard.” 

Tony takes a step forward involuntarily, and despite being shorter, he stands up as straight as possible and stares Steve down. Steve returns the gaze, that eyebrow not moving a fraction as they both stare, unblinking, until Tony’s eyes flick down to Steve’s mouth for a brief millisecond of a moment unconsciously, the memory of those lips on his, that tongue… 

He immediately corrects himself and his eyes snap up, but they are less than a foot away, and based on the smirk on Steve’s face, he’s noticed the error. The corner of his smile twitches as though to say, “Thought so,” and then he’s moving, right towards Tony and past him, back the way they’ve come. 

“I’ll cut your pay,” Tony threatens Steve’s retreating back. 

“You already don’t pay me,” Steve tosses back over his shoulder and Tony doesn’t bother keeping down the smile this time since no one can see it. 

… 

A knock wakes Tony from a brief nap on the couch and he groans, checking the time. Almost midnight. He’d slept longer than intended.

“Rhodey, I’m going to--” he cuts himself off as he sweeps open the door, previously thinking that he only received one visitor at this hour before being brutally reminded that another liked to disturb Tony at the worst of times too. 

But there Steve is, standing barefoot outside his door in a loose-fitting shirt and pants, looking at Tony with something dark in his eyes. 

“What are you--?” Tony begins to ask, but again he swallows his own words as Steve takes a step forward and, after a moment's hesitation for the affirmation in Tony’s eyes, closes the distance between them, placing a hard, close-mouthed kiss on Tony’s. His foot closes the door behind him as he walks Tony backward, one hand on his jaw and the other on his hip. 

Finally, Tony’s limbs catch up to the program and his own fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, tugging him closer and deepening the kiss. Steve cedes the control easily and the kiss turns from something that an outsider would almost call innocent into something dark and heavy, something with tongues and wandering hands that can never seem to stay in one spot. 

Tony yanks none too gently at his hair while the other explores that massive chest, feeling up those huge pecs and down his abdominal muscles. Steve, for his own part, focuses mainly on kissing Tony in a way that makes his knees weak, somehow locating every sensitive area with his tongue. 

Steve’s large hands slide to Tony’s waist, and Tony is nowhere near a small man, but Steve is just so massive and large that he feels entirely encompassed by the other’s body surrounding his own. Steve walks them back a few steps until they reach a wall. A little gasp of air escapes Tony’s mouth when his shoulder blades make contact, knocked out of his lungs. 

Steve’s hands toy at the hem of Tony’s shirt, slipping under the material to feel at his stomach which twitches under his touch. Tony presses up off the wall into Steve’s chest, eager to feel warm skin on his own but both of them have too many clothing barriers. 

Steve tries to pull off, keeping his hips pressed against Tony’s so that their erections can grind against one another through the barrier of their pants, but Tony follows his motions and keeps his chest pressed against Steve’s until he’s pushed back into the wall. Steve somehow manages to pin him in place with only his hips (not that Tony is complaining) and pulls away from Tony’s mouth to tear his shirt off. 

Tanned skin and muscles carved by Greek sculptors finally exposed, Tony pulls Steve down for more kissing. He wishes he had more time to look, to touch with an exploratory touch instead of one with intent. But Steve hadn’t wasted time when he’d come in (without permission Tony might add when he regained his right mind) and he certainly isn’t looking to waste any now. 

They aren’t in a bed again and Tony distantly wonders if this is the last time that they’re doing this then why can’t they make it a bit more… intentional? However a little part of him is hoping that there is a next time, and maybe a time after that so that they can properly christen every inch of the office, and move on to bedrooms and such after. Steve rolls his hips and slides his erection up into Tony’s lower abdomen and back down to his cock, creating a wonderful friction that honestly would be plenty to get Tony off. 

But this might be his last time and he’ll be damned if it ends early with him making a mess of himself in his pants. No, this time Tony wants Steve inside him, it’s been ages since the last time and Steve is probably the worst person to continue this thing with but also the best person to screw up Tony’s intestines.

Steve pulls away from his kiss and his hands, just far enough to tug Tony’s shirt over his head and finally they are naked from the waist up and Tony doesn’t have to rely on memory to know what it feels like to have Steve’s big body pressed up against his own. 

He’s never kissed so much with a sexual partner, but with Steve, he can’t complain. He’s skillful with his tongue, playful with his teeth, and the things he does imitate what Tony wants him to do with his body. Or what Tony wants to do. He’s not too picky in that regard. Steve tugs at the waist band of Tony’s pants, hard enough that he’s almost worried they may tear, and alright alright, settle down, he’s working on it. 

Steve continues to abuse or worship the tender skin of Tony’s neck depending on how you look at it, which makes it entirely too difficult to focus on any kind of task, even one as simple as pulling his pants down. But he really doesn’t want Steve to rip any stitches, Tony makes a terrible seamstress, so he summons what concentration he can to yank them down and off his legs. 

Steve grins a little loosely, his eyes are unfocused with need and his own erection stretches the fabric of his own trousers in such a way that can only be described as obscene. Tony’s not complaining about that, though, but give him time to figure out how to speak again and he’ll complain about the fact that the other man is still in pants at all. 

“Steve,” is all he manages to get out and it sounds rough and strained even to his own ears. He mentally rolls his eyes at himself, or he would, but Steve grunts like Tony saying his name hurts just a little, and his hips twitch forward to rub his pants against Tony’s bare crotch. And if Tony has to be naked under the threat of ruined clothing, then Steve should too.

He yanks the waist of Steve’s pants down hard and Steve chuckles breathlessly next to his ear. Tony pulls again with little progress. 

“Okay, okay,” he says and again he pulls back, he keeps doing that and it annoys Tony even if he’s only doing it to expose more skin. He should be able to get naked without separating from Tony. 

The pants come off easily when done by Steve himself apparently, though privately Tony thinks that observation might need to be tested. Later though, right now Tony can only be grateful that once again, Steve Rogers is bare and ready, his cock hard and extended from his body and he looks like he was fucking made for Tony. But that might be his vain streak as Natasha has called it. 

Steve’s body is a feast of bulging muscles that strain and shift as he presses up against Tony and the wall once more, and even though this is now his second time seeing Steve completely nude, the sight still manages to make him breathless in a way that isn’t entirely his lungs being crushed against a wall. And right now, Tony is allowed to touch, allowed to touch what before was far out of reach but now, at least tonight, is for Tony.

He wraps a hand around Steve’s back, feeling the hard muscle of his shoulder before sliding down over each muscle that’s damp with sweat and he smells like a sea breeze. Tony’s senses are working over time, trying to process and store each sensation so that he can access them later, all while Steve’s lips, teeth, and panted words do their best to distract him. 

“Okay?” Steve asks quietly as his teeth scrape the shell of Tony’s ear. Steve shifts his hips forward so that their cocks can grind against one another again, finally bare to each other and Tony has to hold in a groan. 

He tries to think of a word in the affirmative that won’t give away just how more than okay this all is, just how much Tony’s gagging for it, but words a very hard to come by at the moment and all he manages to get out is a soft, “Definitely,” that cracks in the middle of the word when Steve thrusts his hips again. He places a kiss against Tony’s cheek bone as his hands trail down from his hips to his thighs. 

Tony gets the hint without needing to be told twice and hops up when Steve tugs him, and it really shouldn’t be fair how Tony, an adult grown man, barely makes Steve shift his feet when he takes his entire weight. 

Steve’s hands slide around his ass, drawing nearer and nearer to Tony’s entrance that is exposed and empty. He can’t wait to clench around Steve’s cock, fuck. 

Steve’s index finger rubs against Tony’s hole, gently, not pressing, but he doesn’t make a move to breach the tight ring of muscle so he is most likely aware of the issue Tony’s just thought of as well. 

“My desk,” Tony murmurs in response to Steve’s unvoiced question, and instead of setting Tony down like any other, non-Greek god shaped person would, Steve takes the few heavy steps to Tony’s desk. He cups Tony’s thighs and ass with long fingered hands since he can no longer lean the man (the fully grown man!) against the wall, but aside from the shift in his grip he bears no sign of difficulty compensating Tony’s weight. Which is utterly ridiculous, Tony might have mentioned. 

He opens the drawer Tony gestures to since it’s a bit out of his reach with his current position, but Steve leans down like it’s nothing and pulls out the small container of oil they’d picked up somewhere in the Mediterranean. The guy had recommended it highly, and he’d blown Tony rather well, so… 

Steve adjusts so that Tony’s ass is perched on his own desk and he can’t find it in himself to care about the papers and maps that are spread across the surface. That would require brain power and for Tony to be able to pull away from this precious moment with Steve. 

“Can I…” 

And yes, yes, Tony nods more enthusiastically than he needs to, but whatever Steve wants, whatever Steve is about to finish that sentence with, Tony knows the answer will be the same. He spreads his legs and tries to urge Steve closer by digging his heels into that hard ass. It’s time to get this show on the road, no matter how much fun it is to work Steve up and how Tony wants to take his time to look his fill. 

His dick, which has been sticking straight out from his body, throbbing with each pulse of his heartbeat, has entirely other plans than Tony’s brain. It’s fine, won’t be the first time his dick got thinking priority. 

“C’mon, Rogers, you gonna fuck me or what?” Tony asks to egg him on, he can’t help it, it’s just who he is. But the way that Steve’s eyes darken with the challenge and his smile turns downright filthy makes it all worth it. 

A slick finger probes at his entrance, questioning without pressing past the tight ring of muscle. He’s testing, or maybe teasing. Whatever he’s doing, he needs to get a move on and Tony lets him know. Or something. He’s pretty sure what comes out is something replicating Steve’s name. 

Steve huffs a breathless laugh into Tony’s neck, and it feels warm and wet but Tony just wants to pull Steve closer. For sex reasons. 

Steve doesn’t rush prep. Even when Tony rushes him. It’s quite frustrating. Even though Steve’s erection looks almost painful and Tony tries to goad him into getting on with it, but each time, Steve pulls away or rumbles a laugh and Tony is forced to explore just how impatient he is. By the time Steve wiggles a third finger in beside the second two and brushes against his prostate, Tony is about ready to combust. 

He’s grinding down onto Steve’s hand with all he’s got but it’s nowhere near enough, not with the half hits of his prostate as Steve tries not to work him up too much, too quickly. Tony almost came twice but managed to stave it off by sheer force of will. That, and each time he’d gotten close Steve had slowed his movements until Tony wound down again, not letting him tip over that final precipice. 

Tony would kick him out except he’s seen what Steve is packing, can feel it throbbing in his right hand, and this isn’t over until that thing is inside of him, end of story. 

Approximately eight eternities later, Steve pulls out his fingers and looks at Tony with dark eyes. “Ready?” he asks and if Tony wasn’t so fucking desperate, he’d make fun of such a dumb question. He’s been more than ready for what feels like half an hour. 

“Yes, c’mon, let me just--” Tony lies back on the desk, he’s careful to avoid any pointy objects, moving them to the side carelessly before he spreads his legs. 

Steve’s eyes rake down his body and he looks fucking huge standing over Tony this way, especially when Tony’s all spread out, naked and exposed like he’s been thrown haphazardly onto the desk and Steve looks like  _ that _ . Tony doesn’t blush but if he did, he’s pretty sure he’d be flaming. Steve on the other hand always seems to radiate heat, and his ears are a good indication of what he’s feeling, a blaring red sign that shows when he’s feeling embarrassed or irritated (usually with Tony), no matter how good his poker face is. 

Now, though, Steve is flushed from his cheeks down to his chest and if Tony had all the time in the world, he’d follow it, see how far that flush could go. What words would make it flame brighter. As it happens, Steve seems to shake himself from his reverie with a quick jerk of his head. He leans forward and his large hands span across Tony’s hips, thumbs nearly tickling the base of his ribcage. And he knows what they say about big hands. Tony’s not picky but Steve Rogers somehow manages to tick every single one of his boxes, or he will if he ever gets to top that brickhouse of a man, but Tony’s not holding out much hope. He doesn’t have any misunderstandings of what “this” is, whatever it’s called. 

Tony is brought out of his thoughts by the tip of Steve’s dick pressing against his entrance. Steve slicks himself up with the hand already coated in oil and presses forward. One hand grips his cock to make sure he’s lined up correctly and the other holds Tony by the waist. 

A heavy sound punches out of Steve’s chest as he slides in. He moves slowly but Tony’s body gives easily thanks to the thirty hours of preparation. Tony does have to admit that it does make his chest tight when he thinks about Steve’s care and thoughtfulness throughout it all, despite seeming to want to punch Tony more than half the time. 

And holy, holy fuck, he’s pretty sure he’s never felt this full, Steve is big, bigger than he felt in his mouth, bigger than anyone he’s had in a long, long time. Steve’s back is slick with sweat as he begins to thrust but Tony continues to hang on for dear life anyway. He begins slowly, watching Tony’s face for any sign of discomfort it seems, but when Tony clenches experimentally around his length and rolls his hips into the next thrust, Steve’s whole body shudders. 

“Harder,” Tony tries to command but it comes out more needy and breathless than authoritative. 

Steve grunts and speeds his thrusts, not holding himself back to the smooth, slow rhythm he’d started with and instead beginning to search for his own pleasure. Tony should have known Steve wouldn’t be a selfish partner, even balls deep inside him and distracted by his own looming orgasm. He searches for the right angle, adjusting each thrust until…  _ there _ , Tony can’t hold in a cut off gasp. 

Steve moans in answer and focuses on thrusting hard against that one spot, that one bundle of nerves that makes his entire body light up and his cock leak where it smacks against his own belly. Fuck, this isn’t going to last long. 

Steve doesn’t appear to be doing much better. The flush has spread to his sternum and his face is tight with tension as his hips snap against Tony’s ass. Tony’s legs are wrapped around Steve’s waist, using them as leverage to meet him thrust for thrust and work him as deeply into Tony’s body as possible. A large hand trails his fingers from Tony’s throat and begins to wander down. 

His palm slides down Tony’s neck and rests on his chest and Tony knows he must feel his fluttering heartbeat. Steve’s eyes are soft and full of wonder and so fucking blue, they match the sea outside and gods are they beautiful. 

Tony is steadily rearing toward his climax, his dick throbbing even though it’s remained untouched. Tony snakes a hand down and begins to stroke himself, Steve watching with hungry eyes but his hand replaces Tony’s, stroking him at a quick, punishing pace. He pulls Tony’s orgasm out, Tony doesn’t even have enough time to cry out a warning, the combination of Steve’s cock hitting his prostate and his hand wringing him of everything he has. Tony doesn’t stand a chance. 

Tony’s ass clenches hard around Steve as he comes, fingers spasming on Steve’s shoulders. Steve pants into Tony’s ear for a couple more thrusts, Tony’s ass twinging at the overstimulation, but then Steve’s throat clicks, fingers clenched tight around Tony’s hips, and finally he stills. 

Steve lets his forehead dip into Tony’s sweaty collarbone, his breath heavy against the heated skin. Tony can’t feel his legs well enough to detangle them, though something in his brain is telling him that the desk is not particularly comfortable. But with Steve still holding his ass up and buried deep inside him, he’s more than content to ignore it. 

With one more steadying inhale, Steve finally moves back, breaking Tony’s lock at the ankles. He guides Tony’s legs to find their footing (quite literally) and pulls out with a grimace and Tony winces. He holds Steve’s shoulders to regain his balance and Steve’s hands remain on Tony’s waist until he’s steady on his feet. Finally, those fingers, too, slide away and Tony suddenly feels naked despite having been nude for the past several minutes. 

Steve doesn’t look at him as he does up his pants. He finds his discarded shirt and slings it on right in front of the door to the office. He doesn’t say anything. The only sound is the click of the latch behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, almost two months, sorry. Happy Halloween, I hope y'all are safe and doing okay. This story is so much smut holy crap, sorry not sorry. Would love to hear what you think and I hope to have the next chapter out 'soon' (sorry, school is kinda kicking my ass rn). 
> 
> Anyway, Happy Halloween, happy reading, and I'll see y'all next time. Thanks for sticking around.

**Author's Note:**

> Please please let me know what you thought! Constructive criticism is always welcome, thank you so much for reading. I will post the next chapter soon :)


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